


write you in (threes)

by rabhoty



Category: Twenty One Pilots
Genre: Hallucinations, M/M, i'm sorry yikes, it's uh kinda fluffy ???? soft ? ??At the end i guess so, there's that
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-20
Updated: 2018-07-20
Packaged: 2019-06-13 10:30:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 409
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15362565
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rabhoty/pseuds/rabhoty
Summary: a little ditty (but not really) on the dema stuff.





	write you in (threes)

**Author's Note:**

> hey hey it's 4am and i can't sleep so i wrote this. anyone else glad the pilots are back?
> 
> ||-//

there were three letters, all signed by the name of — clancy? this was wrong, it had to be wrong. the boy didn't know anyone named clancy. he didn't even know how he had gotten trapped in between towering mountains of green and grey. with every step came an abundance of looming thoughts. for he could only feel lonelier than ever trapped behind walls of rock with nowhere to go.

the letters made him curious. everyday he would explore his surroundings to try and find someone. _anyone._ the man would often wake up in a stream; sometimes of water, sometimes of blood. either way, the liquid kept him sane, as if saying this was his calling. this was his purpose.

the first letter was simply talking about a place called dema — a place called _home._ whenever the man grew weary he would read it and try to remember what his home was like. had he ever had a home? surely, someone would go looking for him if he had . . . right? the second letter talked about dreams and how everything was a lie. the man had no time to care for it. how could he? he had better things to do than to think. he had to survive. 

the man was losing grip of reality. some days he would see flashes of bright yellows or pinks, but would turn to see another wall staring back at him. other days he would hear thumping, like someone running away from something. he knew it was just The Thing. he felt lonelier than ever.

it was after he had sat down beside the stream to read the third and final letter that he understood. he hadn't been looking for someone. someone had been looking for him. there was someone out there — _was it clancy?_ who felt worse than the man did. even after spending weeks circling around the rocks and the river, he couldn't begin to feel as bad as the creator of the letters. picking at the blood off his fingers, he realized. he remembered home. 

looking down at his own broken finger he could see another hand reaching out. it was very real, he was very alive. the man dropped the letter into the water and replaced it with the hand. it was colder than the rivers and colder than the nights spent alone but it was _something._ he wouldn't have to be alone anymore. it had been there the whole time.


End file.
